Chapter 56 In The Lights

My light falters, the black flicker surging, and Elena lunges, her blade slashing a tendril, black-red-gold-silver blood spraying, but it reforms, faster, wrapping her leg, burning, her scream sharp as she falls, veins creeping, not black, not red, but all. “Elena!” I scream, my light—red-gold-white-silver-gold—surging, weaving with Eira’s, cutting the tendril, freeing her, but the veil pulses, stronger, the black Warden stepping closer, not attacking, offering, its hand outstretched, black light—not chaos, not balance, but end—pulling, not at my light, at me, at Eira, at the pack. Morgan’s silver light flares, burning through tendrils, shielding us, but they wrap him, all colors, burning, his yell raw as he staggers, blood fresh, his silver dimming.